


Echoes of Dawn

by wildfrancium



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amnesia, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Adam, Irish Ronan, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mistaken Identity, WWII, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-02 02:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13308843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildfrancium/pseuds/wildfrancium
Summary: As WWII comes to a close, Ronan Lynch is looking to get back home to Ireland. An injured British soldier happens to be his ticket out, but as he cares for the soldier, the more he wants to keep the soldier around. Especially when he learns most of the soldiers memories are nothing but smoke and haze.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like writing WWII Era fics even though it's probably grossly not historically accurate. I hope everyone enjoys!

Ronan stepped out back as he lit a cigarette and jammed it between his lips. Waiting around fucking sucked. He wandered a bit before taking a piss and then heading back.

Getting everyone sorted sucked. He’d been tagging and sorting all day trying to get boys sent home. By some stroke of luck his ticket out showed up the other night. He wasn’t keeping his fingers crossed, but the head doctor promised his name was on the outgoing list. He was getting off this godforsaken continent.

The make shift hospital was packed. It was a church that happened to still have its roof. Smelled all sorts of disgusting though. The glass was gone from the windows, but the breeze was weak. Ronan exhaled smoke as he stepped over bodies. He wasn’t supposed to smoke inside, but no one to tell him to stop was awake.

A lot of the guys around the room moaned and groaned. Even with serious injuries, they were stuck there until an opening to send them home.

Ronan stopped at his patient. Most of the guys in the room were French or American soldiers, but a Brit had finally showed up and it was enough to get Ronan a ticket home.

Or an earlier ticket.

Tomorrow.

His patient came in with severe head trauma to the left side. Those who brought him in weren’t clear on what happened. They just had him bleeding in the back of their truck with a name.

Adam Parrish looked like a baby in his uniform. Ronan had surveyed the head wound and cleaned and wrapped it. He’d covered the boys’ eyes too, to keep the light out.

Parrish hadn’t really woken up yet. Sometimes his mouth moved, but no sound came out. Sometimes his hands moved like he was reaching out for something he couldn’t grab.

Ronan didn’t really want to know what kind of shit this kid had seen. Ronan had enough horrors in his own memory.

He sat on the ground next to Parrish. There wasn’t much room between pallets and stretchers, but there was no where else to sit. Ronan kept a close eye on Parrish lest the kid die before Ronan gets on that boat to England.

But part of him felt bad for Parrish. All battered at the end of the war. Ronan wondered when he’d come over; he looked barely 18. Ronan had taken a bullet to the thigh early on and with his medic badge, the doctors had kept him around after they patched him up.

Which was fine. His entire unit was dead. They hadn’t even made it off the beach. Ronan had tried to save those he could, but when someone had their guts in their hands during heavy fire, there was little Ronan could do.

The hospital wasn’t much better. He spent days digging bodies out of rubble and patching up those he could. Occasionally, a wave of men would be sent their way, all half dead and rotting. A few of them lived, but most were a lost cause. So, Ronan dug graves when the hospital emptied. 

Supplies was low. Food was low. Clean water was almost unheard of.

They slowly moved further into France as the Germans were pushed back, but Ronan didn’t know a lick of French. Some kids tried to teach him. All grubby and half starved, they’d follow him around as he wandered after a stray cat in his off time. They didn’t teach him anything useful, but it was kind of nice until there was an air raid and Ronan didn’t see them again.

That seemed to happen everywhere he went though. He sought out a bit of peace, and the little monsters would approach with their big eyes and toothy grins. They’d eye him curiously even when he wore a permanent scowl.

Ronan stared at Parrish, sucking away at his cigarette. He only had four left and fuck if he was trapped here when he ran out.

He’d celebrated his 19th birthday in some bombed out building treating men who’d lost limbs coming up the beach. Fuck him if he spent his 20th birthday waiting on the same shitty beach.

Parrish was doing the reaching thing. Ronan watched him. He shifted and took Parrish’s hand and tucked it back in his blanket. The thing was stained to shit, but it was one of the thicker blankets they had.

“Stop, I’ll get you something to drink,” Ronan said. He didn’t know if Parrish heard him or even understood, but he did stop moving his hand. Ronan would have rounds in a bout half an hour, but he’d get Parrish some water. The nurses usually did it, but being the only two British soldiers, Ronan didn’t want to somehow get the short end of the stick.

He hopped up, stubbing his cigarette with his thick boot and then buttoned up his jacket. No one really cared about looking presentable anymore. They were too tired, their uniforms were ripped and dirty, but Ronan was still proud of his uniform. Proud of his service. Proud he’d gotten on that fucking boat and ran up that beach like some kind of hero.

It was a short lived pride, watching the guy next to you get shot in the head did that to a person, but he was proud of the uniform and what it meant.

His country didn’t join the war, so Ronan did it for them.

Ronan filled a tin cup with water from a rain barrel. He took a large gulp and carried the rest inside to Parrish.

“What’ll it take for you to give me bed side manner?” the guy in the next bed asked as Ronan tilted Parrish’s head up so he could drink.

“Not being a fucking Yank,” Ronan snapped, but it was all in good fun. Jonesy was going back without legs. Lost them in a Paris bombing. He was shuffled through hospitals before arriving and being tagged for departure by Ronan three days ago.

“Think his brain is still all in there?” Jonesy asked. Ronan shrugged.

“No idea,” he said. He’d been given a medic badge for saying he cared for animals on his family’s sheep farm. He’d birthed a few lambs and done basic stitches here and there. But sheep didn’t prepare him for head trauma.

He remembered someone talking about light and sound sensitivity, which was why he’d covered Parrish’s eyes. That had calmed him. When he’d been carried in and touched, he started weakly screaming. His eyes were watery and unfocused as Ronan worked stitching his head back together.

When his eyes were covered, he settled a bit. It’d been a bright sunny day. Ronan had treated him in the back of the truck because the more serious patients had been moved inside.

Ronan would be back later to check Parrish’s stitches. While thinking about going home, he was also trying to figure out what to do with Parrish. Hospitals across England were stuffed to the brim. Did he just leave him there for someone else to deal with? Ronan had been sent there to protect and care for the wounded when they were helpless. Most of his efforts had failed, so part of him didn’t want to leave Parrish.

Maybe they could go to the farm. The air would be cleaner and he wouldn’t be trapped in a stinking hospital full of dying people. Ronan could feed Parrish proper food and he’d get clean water. The bed would be decent.

And then Ronan would figure out where Parrish belonged when he was better. All they had was a name. No ID number or unit or even tags. He was just some poor British bastard.

Ronan headed back outside to return the cup and wash his hands. He stopped by the horses, giving each one a moment of attention. It reminded him of home to feel their noses in his palm.

After the horses, he walked down the street and turned into an overgrown garden. It was a quiet spot that made him think maybe God hadn’t completely abandoned them. Ronan could block out everything for a few seconds and try to remember what it was like before the war.

But cries of _Monsieur! Monsieur!_ Brought him back to the present. He grinned a wolfish grin and the children laughed. They asked him what treasures he brought for them that day.

It was never much, a few playing cards here, a prayer card there, bits of colored yarn or cloth. Once, he’d been given chocolate and shared it with them. They returned his treasures with ones of their own. Smooth pebbles and flowers that grew in the cracks of the streets and houses. Ronan’s pocket was full of dried flowers and rocks.

Ronan wiped off grubby faces and hands with a damp cloth.

“Tomorrow I go home,” he told them. They whined, begging in French that he stay and play with them. “My sheep miss me,” he told them, rebraiding messy hair and combing his fingers through shorn hair. He’d given them all haircuts a few days ago.

They all pouted, hanging on him and begging for more fun. “I can’t, I can’t. It’s time to go. No more war to fight. I have to take my hurt friend home,” Ronan told them. “Bring lots of flowers tomorrow,” he said kissing foreheads before they all scampered away; waving until they were out of sight.

Ronan looked at the pile of weeds and sticks in his hand. He smiled fondly and pocketed the mementos.

He was leaving tomorrow. A truck would take them to the water where there was a boat collecting injured British soldiers. Ronan and Parrish would be on that boat and when they got to England it was a train ride across the country. Then it was another boat ride and then the train.

He’d go to Declan’s house after that. Say he was alive and all and get a ride out to the farm with Parrish and Parrish would heal right as rain.

Ronan liked the plan. He headed back to the hospital, going over a checklist of daily duties. When his day was done and finished, he’d go back and sit with Parrish and show him the flowers. Let him smell their faint scent and run the sticks and rocks over his palms and fingers. He’d done it before, much like how he sang and played music for his sheep.

He didn’t know if it’d help Parrish, but Ronan didn’t know how else to fix a brain besides provide comfort.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm overwhelmed by the response I got to this fic and it makes me excited to keep writing. Each chapter gives me so many feelings when I write it. Enjoy!

Ronan paced as cars and trucks were stuffed with people. Mostly fucking American’s whining about making the stop. Said they’d had to go out of their way to pick everyone up.

Ronan sucked on a cigarette looking sour the entire time. It’d been two hours since they arrived acting like they didn’t know how to line up a bunch of stretchers. Jonesy was in one truck bed somewhere in the mix. Told Ronan to look him up if he was ever in New York. Ronan didn’t tell him that once his feet were firmly on Irish soil, they weren’t leaving again.

The day was getting warm, making the stench thick and heavy. Ronan was sure he’d forever be able to taste blood, sweat, and urine in the back of his throat.

He kicked at the dirt. There were still about thirty people that needed to be loaded before the trucks headed out. Adam was at the end of the line. They were “guaranteed” a spot on the trucks, but Ronan was starting to doubt it when the soldiers started arguing with the doctors about how they’d been in the fucking thick of it while doctors sat around in this shit town.

Ronan wanted to deck the mouthy one.

Instead, he thought about the kids. He’d shared bits of soap and chunks of bread with them while they made him flower crowns and grass bracelets. They brought little bouquets for Parrish and had even found some scraps of paper to draw pictures for Ronan with charcoal.

They asked about his friend, about Parrish. Ronan said he didn’t know him well because he hurt his head. He told them Parrish didn’t talk yet, but would hold out his hand sometimes. The children bombarded him with cries of _Tu teins sa main! Tu teins sa main!_ Ronan had never thought to do that; hold Adam’s hand. But maybe he was reaching out lost and confused like the children suggested.

Their time together ended with some tears and lots of hugs. Ronan told them all _Sourions! Sourions! Sourions!_ He told them until they were laughing at his horrible French. They all hugged him once more before running off with screams of _Au revior! Ne nous oublie pas!_

It tugged at Ronan’s heart, his chest feeling heavy as he packed his pockets one last time.

When he got back, he put Parrish’s gifts in his pockets.

And then they waited some more. Ronan was passed a worn newspaper. It was out of America announcing the success in the Pacific. The grainy pictures showed mass destruction and celebrating soldiers. The paper talked about how everyone would be home by Christmas.

Ronan rolled his eyes. The Germans surrendered in May and he was still in Europe. They obviously weren’t moving people out that fast.

He’d heard about men who went home earlier though. They were sent to the other side of the world to be at the mercy of the Japanese. Ronan had heard plenty about how they were.

It was over though, at long last. When it started, Ronan’s father had been very against Ireland’s choice to remain neutral. He did not like the German influence he saw in town and actively spoke for the Allies.

All that talking ended when they bashed his head in after a town meeting. Even the police turned a blind eye. Shrugged it off, saying maybe he talked too much about things he didn’t know.

Ronan passed the newspaper on, feeling sick. He took out another cigarette and lit it. The lighter had been his fathers. Had the date he married their ma etched into the worn metal. It’d been when he got home from the first war. Fought in the trenches with his British buddies. He didn’t talk about it much, just brought it up when the Germany invaded Poland and he saw the world going to shit again.

“Fuck this, right Parrish?” Ronan asked, squatting next to where Parrish lay in the shade with the others. “I mean, why does no one know how to move everyone? Why is it so fucking hard?” Ronan looked up at the blue sky. “It’s a nice day if you only look up,” Ronan said to him. “I’d show you if your eyes weren’t so fucked still.” Parrish’s eyes hadn’t dilated properly when Ronan showed him light yesterday.  

Ronan was starting to sweat with his jacket on. Instead of taking it off, he moved Parrish’s blanket and unbuttoned his jacket. He wasn’t flushed, but his hands were warm. Whatever happened to Parrish, he’d been doing a lot before. There was muscle on him and he was tan from the summer.

Ronan stood up after adjusting Parrish’s jacket when one of the doctors called his name. Lowery was the head of their hospital being an officer and all. He was the one who dragged Ronan off the beach and Ronan had moved with him for over a year.

Goodbyes were weird. Especially to someone who had saved his life.

“Filled out the papers for you,” Lowery said handing Ronan a folded bundle. “They’ll get Parrish into England and then Ireland,” he said with a sigh. Ronan had realized Parrish had no identification to allow him into England or anywhere. Lowery happily filled out the papers for Ronan. He said it was better Parrish go to Ireland since England was blown to shit.

“Thanks,” Ronan said. Lowery gave him a tired smile.

“It was nothing. The faster everyone leaves, the faster I go home. Can’t wait to see Eliza with my own two eyes,” he said clapping Ronan on the back. Lowery talked about his daughter often. She’d been a few months when Lowery left almost three years ago.

Ronan asked why he hadn’t left sooner. Lowery just gestured to all the wounded. Said someone had to care for them. Someone had to put them back together so that they could fight another day and keep his family safe from the fucking Germans.

Ronan eventually learned he was Jewish. The war felt more personal to him. Ronan didn’t really get it until reports of the first liberated concentration camp came. Ronan hadn’t slept or eaten for almost a week thinking about how another human could do that to another human.

So, he stayed with Lowery. If the man was watching everyone, he needed someone to watch his back and that’s what Ronan did.

“Soon,” Ronan said. “If they can pack the trucks that is.” The both chuckled.

“I hope you come to America one day,” Lowery said. “Chicago isn’t that bad.”

“Can’t leave my sheep again,” Ronan laughed. “But I’ll write. I wanna hear about how fat you get when you go home.”

Lowery often talked about all the food his wife was going to make him when he returned home. He told Ronan his plans for the rest of his life were to open a clinic and get fat.

“Of course,” Lowery said with another tired smile. He clapped Ronan on the back once more and then headed back inside. Ronan tucked the papers into his breast pocket. He was pretty sure Lowery was the kind of man Niall Lynch had been during the first war.

Maybe that was why Ronan actually liked him.

 

 

 

The truck situation wasn’t sorted until after the sun had gone down. But they were in a truck. Ronan was on a bench with Parrish at his feet. It only took a few minutes of jostling for Ronan to start swearing. The injured people were being tossed around on the bumpy ride.

Ronan gave less of a shit about the others, but slid to the floor to sit behind Parrish. He pulled the boy into his lap and pressed the right side of his head against his chest. Ronan held Parrish’s head like that so that it wouldn’t move when the truck hit a rock or a hole.

The bench dug into Ronan’s back and Parrish’s dead weight was kind of heavy, but the church was a speck in the distance and they were headed to the ocean. And the ocean meant home this time.

“We’re going home, Parrish,” Ronan said.

 

 

 

The boat left at dawn. The waters were calm and the wind wasn’t bad. Ronan bundled Parrish the best he could since they were on the deck of the boat. A few of the soldiers chatted happily as Europe faded from sight.

Ronan kept his eyes forward, waiting for that first glimpse of England. The cold spray wet his face, but it was the most alive he’d felt in months. Like the air was clean. Like the water was cleansing him; washing away the last year and setting him free.

Once they docked, things took a while. Ronan pulled out his last cigarette and smoked while waiting to be unloaded. The nightmare was ending.

Parrish was loaded onto a train. Ronan sat next to him with his head pillowed in his lap. A lot of soldiers were on the train, but a lot looked better off than Ronan. He ignored the stench coming off him and Parrish. He picked at the dirty bandages wrapping Parrish’s head and looked out the window.

Ronan had no money to call Declan. He didn’t have money for anything, but nurses came through the train car with food and water. One even gave Ronan clean bandages and everyone got a blanket.

Ronan drank and ate before helping Parrish.

When it was dark again, Ronan changed the bandages on Parrish’s head. He cleaned some of the dirt, grim, and dried blood away with the edge of the blanket before letting the wound sit and air dry. Ronan didn’t realize until he was done that Parrish was looking at him. Like actually looking.

“Oh hi uh I’m Ronan Lynch,” Ronan said. “I’ve been caring for you. We’re going to Ireland until you heal,” he added. Parrish didn’t say anything, just shut his eyes and fell asleep.

The looking was a good sign though. One that made Ronan a bit relieved.

They had to wait at the docks for a boat in the morning, but someone had found a wheelchair for Parrish. He was asleep tucked under both blankets while Ronan stood outside the station smoking a bummed cigarette.

People had congratulated him offering handshakes and hugs for his service. They said they’d pray for Parrish. It was all a bit strange.

But there was just another boat and another train. The idea of home almost brought tears to Ronan’s eyes. The thought of his sheep and his bed. A real bed for the first time in over a year. To sleep without constant fear of blowing up or being shot.

No one needed him to keep them alive through the night anymore. No one needed to hold his hand while they died anymore.

Ronan went back inside to Parrish. He’d woken and was doing the reaching thing. This time Ronan took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I’m here, Parrish,” Ronan said softly. “I’m here and we’re almost home.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is a very good chapter. Thank you all so much for your support!! Enjoy!

It was a foggy day. The mist clung to Ronan’s coat as he pushed Parrish down the street. The skies were gray, full of fat clouds. It felt so much like home that Ronan wanted to scream, to cheer.

There weren’t many people on the street, just a few going here or there. No one congratulated him. No one talked about the war. The buildings were all standing in their original foundations. Just another dreary day.

Declan lived in the townhouse their parents had lived in. Declan was an investment banker like their father had been. Declan had all the money and accounts. Ronan was to follow in those footsteps, but at some point he got lost in the magic of the farm. The farm was their fathers’ hobby. To Ronan, it was his sanctuary.

When they were little, Ronan tried to show Declan the magic. When he wouldn’t listen, Ronan dragged Matthew after him. Showing him how to talk to the sheep, how to navigate the hills, how to walk through the nearby woods, how to avoid the faeries.

All while Declan rolled his eyes.

Ronan pressed a cold finger to the bell. Going home had been exciting until he stood in front of the door. Now, the weight of his choices bore down on him. The whirlwind following Niall’s death. The tailspin that had Ronan black out drunk most evenings. The rash decision to go to England and enlist.

Declan had written Ronan a handful of letters while he was deployed. They didn’t say much of anything and Ronan’s responses were always short.

That was just how things were between them.

“Ronan!” Ashley’s heavy accent washed over Ronan like the mist that clung to his skin. “We didn’t know when you’d be home! We didn’t… we haven’t heard anything in months!” she cried throwing her arms around him. Ashley was a short woman from a family of wheat farmers. She’d been around for awhile and Ronan liked her enough. He let her hug him, murmuring into his jacket. “I have to ring Declan! He’ll be so glad you’re back! Matthew should be back from the farm this evening.” There were tears in his eyes. Ronan kind of wished he felt the same way, but his emotions were reserved for others.

“I have a friend I need to bring in,” Ronan said, backing up and pointing to Parrish. The were eight steps up to the townhouse.

“Oh Ronan!! Why didn’t you tell me! Let’s get him in the house,” Ashley said hurrying down the steps. They carried Parrish together. Ashley lay a sheet on the sofa before Ronan put Parrish down.

And then he wasn’t sure what to do next. He didn’t feel like talking more to Ashley. She’d gone to ring Declan at work anyway. He looked at Parrish. They both needed a bath and probably some clean clothes.

He wandered off to Matthew’s room. It looked the same. Drawings covered the wall and there was his radio in the corner. His bed had the same handmade quilt it had since before Ronan left. Matthew was almost eighteen. Ronan didn’t know if there was anyone in his life or if he had plans to move.

He knew the farm wasn’t for Matthew.

In the bottom drawer, there were pants and shirts and thick sweaters that would fit Parrish. Ronan would take some of Declan’s clothes.

When they were little, Ronan and Declan shared a room. At the farm, all three boys shared, but when they were in the city, they shared a tiny room. Ronan didn’t go in that room. Didn’t want to look at the ravens he drew on the walls much to their mothers’ dismay. The birds and the forest and the farm scribbled onto the peeling wallpaper.

Declan was always easier to go yelling _Mama he’s done it again! He’s drawn all over the wall! A big ugly tree this time!_ And their mother would just sigh and sit Ronan in the corner to think about his actions. Ronan would yell; said he hated the city. Aurora would just smile and tell him they’d return to the farm soon.

It was never soon enough.

Ronan went into their parents room; the room Declan took over when their parents died. A room he now shared with Ashley.

Ronan looked at the town faded pictures in tarnished frames. His parents wedding photo and then a family photo from around the time Ronan was ten.

He ran fingers over the bedframe his father had made. It was too big for the room, but had held the entire family when they’d been small. In Declan’s closet, Ronan took some clothes out. He tried not to think about how he’d been wearing his uniform for an entire year. At one point, he’d had a change of clothes, but they were lost somewhere along the way. The shirt was torn to make bandages, his pants went to someone else, his jacket went to an injured soldier.

Then he was left with only the clothes on his back.

“Declan is on his way home,” Ashley called when Ronan returned to the sitting room. He nodded. “Shouldn’t be more than an hour. I’m making stew for dinner. But if you need something now I can make it. I made bread yesterday.”

“It’s okay. Just some water is fine,” Ronan said without looking at her. He looked at how dirty Parrish was against the clean sheet. Ronan had permanent dirt under his nails and smelled rank. He’d figure out what to do with Parrish after he showered.

The bathroom was small. It had originally been a closet that his father had converted into a bathroom. There was a toilet, a sink, and a shower. The light was harsh and caught in all the juts of his bones and muscles. The person in the mirror was someone Ronan barely recognized. Before leaving France, he’d shaved, but in a few days he was halfway to a beard.

It made him look too much like his father, so he quickly did away with it. He’d shaved his head at the beginning of the war and kept it that way. It made bathing easier. Now it just made him look rough.

Taking off his uniform was hard. He’d probably never have to put it back on. Ever.

He didn’t know if that made him happy or sad.

The shower was bliss. The closest Ronan had felt to God in months. The water washed months of dirt and grime from Ronan. He scrubbed until he felt raw. He ran his fingers over the puckered bullet hole in his thigh until he felt real again.

He sat in the bottom of the tub wishing he’d found a way to go straight to the farm. He didn’t want to talk about any of it. Talking about the war meant it had happened. It meant all those people really did die and so many died without names. They were lost forever on some beach, in some town, in a field, a forest.

Ronan ran shaking hands over his face. He had to get out of the shower and be human again. He was expected to talk, to smile, to function.

Well, maybe not. After Niall died Ronan didn’t do any of those things and Declan gave up trying. He left Ronan to the farm and the drinking.

But now was different. He’d lived through hell and come home in one piece. Or at least some semblance of a piece.

He got out of the shower; made himself stand up and get out before they thought he drowned. He pulled on Declan’s clothes. They were about the same size when Ronan had left. Poor rationing had caused Ronan to lose weight and the shirt and pants were loose.

The sweater reminded him of his mother. Knitted with wool from their farm and smelling like fresh air, reminding Ronan that he could breathe.

He set the tub to fill and went to get Parrish.

“Oh Ronan! You look so much better!” Ashley said happily. Ronan just nodded, picking Parrish up.

“Can you get me bandages?” Ronan asked and went back to the small bathroom. He’d gotten used to dressing and undressing men. Usually men in much worse conditions that Parrish. “It’s just me, Parrish. I’m giving you a bath because you smell like fucking shit.”

Ronan rolled up his sleeves and put the boy in the bath. Ronan had set a bucket of clean water on the floor to wash Parrish’s hair with because, as he expected, the water turned murky before he even started washing Parrish.

As he scrubbed his skin, Ronan thought about all the others he had bathed and all the wounds he washed. There were never bathes or showers, but there’d been rivers and streams.

Parrish held Ronan’s wrist while Ronan washed him.

“I’m going to take the bandages off. It’s bright, so shut your eyes,” Ronan said, tugging gently at the bandages. Parrish winced, squeezing his eyes shut. Ronan bent his head to get a good look at the wound. It was healing nicely. “Can you hear out of this ear?” Ronan asked, tapping his left ear. Parrish shook his head slightly, wincing again. “Okay, okay, careful,” Ronan muttered.

He was gentle when he washed Parrish’s hair. He cleaned the wounds too and checked the stitches.

Getting Parrish out and dressed was easier when they realized Parrish could stand.

“Did you just want me to fucking carry you?” Ronan snapped, helping Parrish shove his arms into the sweater sleeves. Parrish just shrugged. Ronan narrowed his eyes. “This is why I hate the British,” he muttered. Parrish frowned, but Ronan took his hand and slowly led him out of the bathroom.

Parrish collapsed back onto the couch and fell asleep before Ronan finished wrapping his head.

“What happened to him?” Ashley asked. Ronan shrugged.

“Dunno,” he mumbled tucking Parrish in and taking a seat in the arm chair in the corner. His clothes felt too tight. His skin felt too tight. He felt like a coiled spring waiting to go off. Ronan drummed his fingers on the upholstery. Declan wouldn’t be happy that he wanted to immediately go to the farm, but staying in the townhouse would drive him insane.

The front door pushed open, signaling Declan’s arrival. Ronan stood, watching his brother hang his coat and put away his umbrella.

“You didn’t tell us you were coming home,” Declan said. “We haven’t heard anything since June.” Declan faced Ronan. Ronan stared at him, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Post was shit,” he finally said. “I had no money to ring once I got to England. Just got on a train and a boat and another train,” Ronan said. Declan looked at him for a long moment and then nodded to Parrish.

“Who’s that?”

“Some British solider. I got permission to bring him here to heal because England is overflowing with soldiers.”

“Hmm just like every bird and damn duck,” Declan said. Ronan didn’t react.

“I want to go to the farm tonight,” he said after taking a deep breath.

“Figured,” Declan said, heading towards his room. Ronan followed.

“How’s everything been?” Ronan asked quietly while picking at the worn wood of the doorframe.

“The same. Everything has been the same,” Declan said. Ronan knew that couldn’t really be true, but wasn’t surprised that Declan wanted to throw in his face that he was useless.

“Oh,” Ronan said.

“How was the war?” Declan asked like Ronan had gone on vacation. Ronan stiffened. “I didn’t tell many people. Said you just left.”

“Why would you do that!” Ronan snapped feeling heated. He’d risked his life and Declan was telling people Ronan just up and fucked off.

“Calm down. There were enough people on the other side that I wasn’t putting us at risk because you decided you had to go be a hero or something.”

“It’s what da would have wanted,” Ronan grumbled. Declan sighed heavily.

“That’s what you say for everything. Da this, da that. Fuck Ronan, you just threw it all away and then you run off to another country and we barely hear from you and you think you can come back and act like it’s all fine?” Declan was yelling. “If I said you went off to fight with the British I could have lost my job or been killed! We all could have. When the German’s surrendered there was a riot in Dublin! I couldn’t risk it Ronan.”

“I didn’t ask you too!” Ronan snapped. “I didn’t go to put you at risk! I went because I was needed over there. I was needed because people were dying left and right and the Germans were gonna win and then what? Do you know what they were doing over there?”

“I’ve read the reports, Ronan,” Declan sighed. “Heard all about it, but I’m sure they’d have been fine without you. But I’m talking before that and the stupid fucking farm. You threw away your schooling and all your potential. You became a violent drunk and then you just left us with the farm. It’s not a good business. The entire country is poor and starving.”

“So, I was just supposed to be like you? Stay here and work in a fucking bank? Honestly, do you know me?” Ronan bit out. Declan was quiet a moment.

“I feel like I used to, Ronan,” he said. “But all this, these last few years and then this soldier thing, I just don’t know anymore. You’re all over the place. But fine, just go back to the farm and back to drinking and fighting and whatever,” Declan said pushing past Ronan. “Oh, Ashley and I are getting married,” he said looking over his shoulder. “I gave her mam’s ring.”

Ronan punched the doorframe. Hard.

 

Dinner was a quiet affair. Ronan nearly forgot to say grace having not said it in months. He decided it was probably not the time to tell Declan he didn’t know if he believed in God anymore. God probably wouldn’t want Ronan anyway. He’d burned pews and Bibles for warmth. He’d shot and killed more people than he could count.

After they ate, they sat around until it was time for Declan to go get Matthew from the nearby town. He explained he’d drove Matthew in the early morning where they’d met Mr. O’Shaughnessy who said it’d be no trouble to take Matthew to the farm.

Mr. O’Shaughnessy was a tall man who always reminded Ronan of a scarecrow. He and his wife worked on a beef farm and he was in charge of the group that played music at Wednesday night dances in town. They often sent their daughter, Opal, with meat to Ronan’s house where she then harassed him.

He didn’t mind though.

The car filled Ronan with anxiety. The groan of the motor was too familiar in the sense that it meant run. He’d seen dozens of tanks rip apart cities and towns. He’d seen tons of vehicles parading into hot zones. He’d been in vehicles holding men together while remembering to fire at the same time.

The car ride was tense.

But seeing Matthew was a delight. He sobbed as Ronan held him to his chest. Told Ronan he prayed twice every night that he’d come home safe. Said he cared for the farm knowing Ronan would be back. Said he even went in the forest to tell the trees Ronan would be back.

Matthew fell asleep against Ronan on the drive to the farm. The town had gotten electricity when Ronan had been away. It was strange to see the lights fade into darkness.

The farm rested in the quiet mist. All dark and sleeping. The animals made soft noises and the wind whispered through the trees of the forest nearby. And all of it was home.

Opening the front door lifted a weight from Ronan and he felt tired all the way to his bones. Matthew went to start the fire, while Ronan settled Parrish on the couch.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with all his favorite memories.

Declan stood in the doorway lighting the gas lamps. The small home was already warming up and the dampness was leaving the air.

“I’ll see you Sunday, right?” Matthew asked Ronan with a smile. Ronan hugged him.

“Yeah,” he said already feeling weird about returning to a church to pray. Especially when everyone thought he’d just run off.

“It’s good to have you back,” Declan said roughly from the door. Ronan looked up at him.

“Yeah,” he said, not really sure what being back meant. He was home again and the thought made his chest nearly burst.

But he wasn’t expecting so many other thoughts to be weighing him down.

He waved as his brothers left and then it was him and Parrish and the flickering fire.

Ronan sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. After chores tomorrow, he planned to wash their uniforms. Give them a proper scrub and hang them in the closet with his fathers uniform.

Ronan leaned back, stretching his legs out and sighing. He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke float to the ceiling.

Home.

He rested his free hand on Parrish’s boot.

“We did it,” he told Parrish. “Survived to the end.”

Parrish reached out with a hand and Ronan took it. Parrish’s mouth moved, but little sound came out.

“Want some water?” Ronan asked getting up when Parrish nodded yes. He helped Parrish drink. Ronan stood over him smoking while he tried to speak again. “Don’t push yourself too hard,” Ronan said, kneeling down next to him, so that he could try to hear.

Whatever he was saying ended in can. “Can’t understand you, Parrish,” Ronan said again.

“American,” Parrish pushed out. Ronan inhaled sharply.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Declan comes off like a dick because he was super worried about Ronan and doesn't know how to show it because over the years the two of them have forgotten how to get along. Ronan's always running off doing whatever while Declan is being sensible. So, even though it doesn't seem like it, Declan is really glad and relieved Ronan is back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of pieces of information in this part. It's so hard not to just spoil everything!! Thanks for all the wonderful support and comments. I really love talking to you guys! Enjoy!!

Dawn came soon enough. Parrish was sound asleep when Ronan left for the Barn.

Ronan hadn’t slept at all. He closed himself in his childhood room after getting a few words out of Parrish. 82nd Airborne Division. American. Gansey.

He didn’t know who’d be angrier; Declan or the President of the United States of America. Parrish could be someone and Ronan was sure the American police were going to break through his door and shoot him dead for kidnapping.

But maybe that was just the fear in him speaking.

Everything about the farm was silence and Ronan had forgotten what silence felt like. He was braced for distance gunfire or the moans of the dying.

Instead, he could hear a light rain sometime past midnight. Then the soft sounds of animals waking just before dawn.

 

It was another cool day, the air full of moisture as Ronan unlatched the sheep pen gate. He pulled it wide, listening to the wood creak as it folded against the pen. With a whistle, the sheep got moving to the fields.

Ronan slogged through the mud to the barn where the horses waited. He looked behind the barn at his forest; a dark smudge in the early light. When he was little and done with chores, he’d run deep inside until the outside world became a myth. He explored streams and pools, collected leaves and flowers. The moss was always soft, cradling while he napped beneath the dense canopies and between the ancient roots.

He made his father teach him Gaelic words so that he could speak to the trees. Tell them that someone was listening to them. They whispered back telling him of the people and animals of long ago.

He asked his dad what the forest was called. Niall Lynch had shrugged. Said the forest had many names over the years, but never a permanent one.

Ronan told me the forest told him its name in a dream.

 _Cabeswater_ it whispered in his ear while he slept.

Looking to the barn, Ronan froze. Both horses were already out and the barn door was open wide.

A shiver ran through him and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

“You’re in Ireland,” Ronan told himself. “It’s not Nazi’s. It’s not Nazi’s. It’s not Nazi’s,” Ronan said as he forced himself to step forward. Blood was rushing in his ears as he peeked around the corner into the dim barn.

A lantern was lit and someone was in the stall quietly whistling.

Ronan lifted the gun of the wall.

“This is Ireland,” he murmured, hands shaking. Fear was like a noose around his neck as he approached the stall. “Not a Nazi. Not the Nazi’s.”

He swung into the stall aiming for the mans head. The man screamed, dropping his shovel and crouching, hands in the air.

“Don’t-d-d-d-d-don’t sh-sh-sh-d-d-d-don’t shoot!” he stuttered out. Ronan kept the gun on him, but when he blinked it wasn’t a man, it was a kid. Gangly in an oversized sweater.

“Who are you?!” Ronan snapped. The kid cowered. “Who are you?” Ronan roared, his mind telling him to shoot. Memories blurred with reality taking away the barn and the kids clothes replacing it with broken buildings and Nazi uniforms.

The kid was screaming; begging.

The gun shook in Ronan’s hand. What was another dead body? What was another killed enemy to his list that was too long for repentance.

The kid was crying, telling Ronan he worked there with Matthew. Said Mr. Lynch hired him. Said he came early because Matthew couldn’t.

Ronan lowered his gun. The accent wasn’t Irish.

“Who are you?” Ronan asked, heart thudding in his chest. The kid wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve.

“I’m Noah. I was hired by Mr. Lynch I promise!” he cried.

“Noah what?” Ronan asked.

“Noah Czerny! I have my papers sir!” he sobbed. Ronan had never heard the surname before and the more he spoke the less Ronan recognized the accent. “I’m supposed to be here! They sent me to the church and I got a job here!” Noah continued.

“What? Who sent you where?” Ronan asked. The kid took some deep breaths.”

“When I got to England, I was sent to work at the church. The guy in charge of the church in town, he was visiting and said they could take me in. I do the candle lighting in the church and stay with the O’Shaughnessy’s. Mr. Lynch said he could use my help! I’ve been working here since January!”

“Where’s your family?” Ronan asked. The kid’s white blond hair matched Opal’s, but his eyes were darker. Noah chewed on his lip.

“They had to stay behind… they were only taking kids out,” he said softly.

“Okay,” Ronan said. “But out of where?”

“Prague,” Noah whispered. Ronan was on alert again. He’d heard of the bombing of Bohemia and other states. Prague was hit bad in attempt to drive the Germans out.

“Are you a Nazi supporter?” he asked.

“No!” Noah cried. “I can’t tell you! I was told to keep it a secret!”

“Okay, okay I just… fuck. Fuck!” Ronan shouted leaving the stall. How fucked up was he for aiming a gun at a kid? A kid who he considered shooting because that’s all he did for months. Nazi sympathizers and supporters were lurking everywhere. He’d shot those that shot at him when he was in France.

People who actually believed the wrong ideals.

Ronan threw the gun at the wall, taking a deep breath. He needed to fucking get ahold of himself. The war was over. He was home. He was safe and had an injured _American_ soldier on his sofa.

“Who are you?” the kid asked from the stall. Ronan turned to him.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“I turned 16 this year,” he said.

“And when you came to England?”

“Twelve, sir,” Noah said.

“I’m Ronan Lynch. This is my farm,” Ronan told Noah. His eyes went big.

“Sir! Matthew talked about you all the time and how you were out there fighting the war!” He smiled at Ronan. “Thank you for winning it! I hope to earn enough to go home again and find my mother and father!”

Ronan nodded. “Call me Ronan. I’m going back inside. Find me if you need me.”

“Okay! And Opal missed you too!” he called. Ronan snorted, heading back to the house.

 

Parrish looked up at Ronan when he entered. “I was getting the animals out,” Ronan said. “Do you want breakfast?”

Parrish nodded.

“What’s the date?” Parrish asked.

“October 1st, 1945,” Ronan said. Parrish looked confused. “What’s the last day you remember?”

Parrish shook his head. “Summer maybe? I remember the German’s surrendered and we were taken from the Stalag. I dropped in with Gansey and we made it up into Belgium and then into Germany…” Parrish shook his head. “Everything is all jumbled. It can’t already be October. I lost Gansey when they marched us out in January,” Parrish said, breathing becoming shallow. Ronan rushed to him.

“Breathe, it’s okay. You hit your head. Do you remember that?” Ronan asked. Parrish shook his head. “Do you know why you had the British uniform?”

“I was given it when we were freed. It was all they had,” Parrish said. Ronan wanted to push him, but he didn’t want to make Parrish panic more.

“Can you tell me where you’re from? Or your age?” Ronan asked, moving Parrish’s hands when he went to touch his head wound.

“No, I can’t remember. We went for training in North Carolina,” he said, frowning in concentration.

“You and Gansey?”

Parrish nodded. “But I lost him during the march! There was a snow storm and he was separated with another group.”

“Marching where?”

“I don’t remember!” Parrish cried.

“Okay, okay, okay shh. We aren’t going to talk about it anymore right now. Do you remember who I am or where we are?” Ronan asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Parrish said taking a deep breath. “You’re Ronan Lynch and we’re at your sheep farm in Ireland because you thought I was a British soldier.”

Ronan nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna make breakfast. Sit here and rest.” Ronan went to stand, but Parrish caught his wrist. Ronan looked back at him, there was concern in Parrish’s eyes.

“Are you sure? You look exhausted,” Parrish said softly. Ronan shook his head, looking away.

“I’m fine. I’ve got you and a stable hand to feed anyway and then I’m going out in the field,” Ronan said. He needed to escape. To clear his head and not think about Parrish or Noah or the war. He wanted to park himself in the damp grass and just breathe.

 

The three ate quietly. Noah took the dishes and washed them, while Parrish hovered. Ronan listened to Noah talk about the horses and the sheep and the chickens and cows at the O’Shaughnessy farm.

Ronan tucked both of them into an extra layer before he put on his coat and left. The sheep hadn’t wandered far, but the walk worked familiarity into Ronan. He pulled open the metal gate leading to another field before letting out another shrill whistle.

The sheep went rushing into the next field. Ronan walked after them first looking at Cabeswater and then towards the sky.

It was all so much the same and yet completely different. But he didn’t know if it was the farm or him that was so different.

Ronan took a seat atop a hill over looking the field he’d entered. It was a wide space, the vastness of the fields used to remind him of the ocean. Endless rolling green fields as far as the eye could see. He watched the wind flutter the grass as he took out a cigarette.

He smoked through one and another. Time slipped by as he looked at nothing in particular and thought about nothing specific. At some point, Ronan lay back, covering his eyes with his hat. The grass was cold, but the earth welcomed him like an old friend.

After a while a shadow covered him. He lifted his hat and grunted. “You’re blocking the sun.”

“Ain’t no fucking sun out,” Opal said crossing her arms. Ronan sat up.

“Your mam know you’re saying those words?”

“It was my mammy who said it first,” Opal told him. Ronan snorted. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy was one of the politest people Ronan had ever met.

“Are you going to tell me you missed me?” Ronan asked. Opal lifted her chin.

“Why should I? You didn’t tell no one that you were coming home,” she told him sounding hurt. Ronan grunted again.

“Didn’t know I was going home until I was on a boat,” he told her. she sat next to him.

“Was the war scary? Da said the war was scary and he didn’t even fight a war,” she said turning huge eyes to Ronan. He didn’t want to talk about the war.

“Look at you wearing pants,” Ronan said instead. She beamed. Her pants were tucked into oversized work boots and her sweater was too big, just like Noah.

“Mam said I could when I’m not at the school. Or mass. You’re going tomorrow right? Mam said you might be tired, but you have to come! Noah never knows what he’d doing, but I get scolded if I laugh,” Opal said with a grin. Ronan didn’t know if he wanted to go to Sunday mass, but he was sure Declan would make him go anyway.

“I’ll be there,” he said, but he hadn’t convinced himself that he belonged in God’s house anymore.

“Good! It’s been so lonely without you here. I just follow Noah and he’s okay. He always has good stories. Matthew is fun too, but the sheep don’t listen to him as well,” Opal told Ronan. Ronan smiled.

“They never listen to Matthew,” Ronan said. Opal leaned against him.

“I’m glad you’re home, Ronan,” she whispered. “We’d get the paper and it was always sad news.”

Ronan tugged her close. Aurora Lynch had delivered Opal ten years ago. Ronan remembered holding her when she was just a few days old. When she was old enough, she always brought them eggs in a little basket and Niall would trade her balls of yarn.

At some point she decided she liked following Ronan around. She always wanted him to take her into the forest to find the faeries and the spirits. Everything she wasn’t supposed to be looking for. She’d climb high in the branches like Ronan had when he was little. She’d sit in their hold and ask them all sorts of questions.

“Go get us some lunch. Meet my friend Parrish,” he said nodding towards the house.

“A soldier friend?” Opal asked, eyes lighting up.

“Yeah, but he’s hurt, so you can’t ask a ton of questions. Tell him about you instead,” Ronan told her.

“Right! I’ll go do that!” Opal said jumping up and taking off down the hill. It left Ronan in silence once again. He’d been hoping he could send Parrish home on a boat and be done with the whole mess, but if he didn’t know where his home was, what was the point?

Ronan sighed, leaning back. He stuck another cigarette between his lips, but didn’t light it.

Coming home wasn’t supposed to feel like such a heavy weight pressing on his chest. It was supposed to be the opposite.

But so far, it wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic, Noah is younger than Ronan and Adam. Noah is 16, Adam is 20, and Ronan will turn 20 in October. (Ronan just thinks of Adam as younger because Adam is underweight and can only grow a patchy beard) And Opal is 11. Oh Matthew is 18 and Declan is 22. 
> 
> Oh and the forest isn't really magic. It's just imagination and Ronan believes in the magic it could hold based on the tales his father always told him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of short and kind of heavy, but I hope everyone likes it! Thanks for all the support and comments. :D

In his room, Ronan opened his small treasure box. A box carved from dark wood with pictures of the forest etched into it. Over the years, the contents changed, but there were always two things Ronan kept inside.

The first was a tiny gold cross his father had gifted him on October 30th, 1925, the day he was born. The second was a rosary with swirling blue glass beads that his mother had wrapped around his hands after his Baptism. They went all the way to Dublin for the Baptism as it was for each Lynch baby.

Ronan had been to Saint Mary’s Pro Cathedral twice after his Baptism. It was magnificent compared to their small church in town. The arches and altar had wowed little Ronan. The church had always held a different kind of magic than his forest.

The church in town, while small, praised itself on its vaulted ceilings and stained glass window that hung over the altar, so that when the sun shown in the place was bathed in colorful light. He’d often told his father he wanted stain glass windows in the farm house.

Niall Lynch had laughed and held Ronan’s rosary up to the light sending blue splashes all over. He told Ronan he already had one.

Ronan hadn’t taken the cross or the rosary with him to war. He’d decided he needed something to come home to. Now he held both of them, both feeling small and delicate in his hand. He’d methodically put on his suit and tie all while feeling like an imposter.

He found an old suit for Parrish that was still too loose, but was the best he could do.

Ronan put his treasures back in his box and put it on the shelf.

He went to the living room and found Parrish staring at the ceiling. “I don’t think I’ve been to church,” he said looking at Ronan.

“The church is open to everyone,” Ronan said. Even the non believers.

“I admire the way the ceiling was built. All the open, exposed beams. Everything in this house is seamlessly done. A lot of work had to go into it.”

“My father built it for my mother,” Ronan said softly. “But she always said he did it for himself.”

“It’s a beautiful house,” Parrish said.

“Do you remember your house?” Ronan asked. Parrish shrugged.

“Not really. I just know it didn’t look like this. I can remember Gansey’s house though. It was a grand old house.”

Ronan nodded, handing a coat and hat to Parrish. “The ride will be cold,” he said, searching for gloves too. Ronan had already gotten the horses hooked up to the wagon and they were ready to go. Mugs of coffee were packed tightly to keep them warm while they drove to town.

Ronan watched Parrish tug on the hat and coat. Ronan had cut the stitches out of the wounds. The skin was new and baby pink, almost fully healed. The stitches Parrish had in before Ronan changed them had been jagged and messy, leaving long scars under Parrish’s soft hair.

“Come on,” Ronan said, holding open the doors. Parrish walked ahead of him, going to the horses and running a gloved hand over the sleek back of the black horse. “That’s Dochas and the spotted one is Dathuis,” Ronan told Parrish. Ronan always named the horses. And the sheep, but no one else thought the sheep needed names.

“I like the horses. I didn’t have horses, but I went riding with Gansey,” Parrish said.

“We could go riding. Dochas likes going out into the fields. If I let her, she’d leave and probably never come back. Just wander around Ireland like she owned the land.”

Parrish smiled at him. Ronan frowned. “What?” he asked gruffly. Parrish shrugged.

“I like the way you talk about your animals. Listening to you and Noah and Opal yesterday was fun. I always wanted siblings,” Parrish said almost sadly. Ronan wanted to point out that things with his actual siblings were much different, but kept quiet as they climbed into the wagon.

The sun was rising over the hills. The clouds in the sky were sparse and the moisture in the air had thinned over night.

Nothing about the road changed, but when they entered town Ronan was again side tracked by the lights. Opal said the town raised money to get electricity while Ronan was gone. It hadn’t been something the town was thinking of before he left though. Things changed in such a short time.

Ronan tied the horses with the others, glancing at Declan’s shiny car sitting with several others.

Parrish waited for Ronan and followed him into the church.

It was bustling with people, as always. Families greeting friends and neighbors and relatives. Some people nodded to Ronan, others greeted him saying it was good to see him back and in good health. A few people glanced at Parrish and a handful greeted him as well; surprised to find he was an American.

No one talked about the war. No one asked Ronan about the war.

He stopped in front of the cross outside of the double doors leading into the interior. On the intricate cross, was Jesus, where he always hung eyes shut, but Ronan felt like him and God were staring into him. Like they knew he had questions. That he’d killed people. That he couldn’t save everyone-

Parrish touched Ronan’s arm, nodding to where one of the nuns held the door open for them. Ronan nodded to her and lead Parrish inside. As he dipped his fingers into the Holy Water, the bell in the tower boomed, signaling the beginning on Mass.

Ronan’s hand shook as he made the sign of the cross. His steps over the worn floors felt heavy and as he slide into the pew next to Matthew, he felt like he was going to scream.

The priest spoke, his words echoing in Ronan’s ears. All Ronan saw was broken pews and broken windows. Bodies spread out on dirty floors, people asking for prayer in their time of dying. Ronan remember tearing Bibles to shreds in hope for a little warmth. Broken statues and crosses littered the grounds. Cemeteries dug and redug. Too many dead for such a small space.

Ronan breathed slowly through his nose as he turned the pages of the Bible in his lap. The movements, the actions, were all automatic after years of practice. He felt like his body moved on its own as he struggled to get a grip.

When the smell clogged his nose, he thought that was the end. It was just incense, but the smoky burn brought Ronan back to other days. Days that almost choked the life out of him.

He turned to Parrish when Parrish rested a hand on Ronan’s forearm. They locked eyes briefly, Parrish giving him a tight nod. Ronan could see that his eyes were dark. Whatever he could remember was sitting in the forefront of his thoughts.

Ronan let out a long breath. Parrish put his hand back into his lap. Ronan tried to focus on the homily, but he’d gone from too many bad memories to absolutely nothing. His mind was blank and he was tired.

But communion was the real mistake. The priest clasped Ronan’s hands telling him they were all glad he was back. He talked about how they’d all missed him, but understood that after the death of his parents he might have needed space. That was all okay, Ronan could nod along politely. But when Noah nearly knocked the candles over and the priest muttered _useless Jew_ that Ronan had to leave.

 

Parrish followed Ronan’s abrupt exit and climbed into the wagon with him. Ronan knew Declan would be pissed as all hell and that Opal would be sad he didn’t stay after to say hello, but he had to be back at the farm.

Preferably under the blankets of his bed.

“I was part of a unit that parachuted into France on D Day,” Parrish said as the rode out of town. “It mostly came back in nightmares when I couldn’t scream. I pushed the soldier in front of me out of the plane… we dropped just South of a small cluster of trees. I hit my mark, a field, but we were out in the open taking heavy fire. There were so many planes and so many people stuck in the trees,” Parrish said. Ronan wanted to vomit. “So many dead in seconds.”

“It was the same on the beach,” Ronan croaked. “My unit barely made it out of the water. None of them made it off the beach even though I tried so hard.”

“I killed a dying American solider that night,” Parrish said turning to Ronan. “His guts and legs were on the ground and he was up there moaning. I couldn’t stand it.”

“I was shot while holding someone together. He died midsentence and all I could think about was how useless I was out there.”

“All I did was follow Gansey. I told myself I’d live if I kept Gansey’s back in my line of sight,” Parrish said.

Then there was silence. There was no pity, just understanding. Ronan was surprised he felt less ill after talking to Parrish about it all. The horrors couldn’t scare Parrish because he’d lived them too. And because he’d lived them Ronan knew it had all been very, very real.

But it was over. There was no more fighting. No more. Just two boys who’d lived through it all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love and support!!! Enjoy!!

 

“So, who is Gansey?” Ronan asked Parrish as their horses wandered through wet grass. The fog had lifted as the sun rose higher, but the grass was still damp and there were rain clouds in the distance. With the breeze, damp earth and sea were carried inland.

They were headed west towards to the ocean. Ronan left the sheep to Noah and saddled the horses with Adam, taking Dochas for himself. She wanted off the path, but Ronan kept her steady to stay near Parrish on their ride.

It felt good to be on a horse. It felt good to be in the hills and moving with the sun across the grass fields. There was a lot of emptiness between his farm and the ocean. It took half a day to cross it all, but the views were worth it.

And Ronan wanted to fill Parrish’s lungs with the fresh air.

Neither of them had talked about mass on Sunday even though Declan had showed up to give Ronan his disappointed speech. Ashley cut him off after a moment saying that he’d just gotten home and falling back into routine was an adjustment.

Ronan had just nodded to her, not wanting to talk or think about church or the war.

He’d gone out into the fields with Matthew who chatted pleasantly about pretty girls who came to the town dances and church. Matthew talked about how he’d be going to the university to further his education in the winter. He didn’t go in the fall because he was working on the farm. Ronan tried to find the words to apologize, but Matthew just shook his head.

Matthew looked like their mother. Ronan could only imagine what the girls thought of him and his golden curls and bright eyes.

Ronan had always said Matthew could be Dian Cecht, the god of healing, when they played in Cabeswater. So, it only made sense that he told Ronan he was going into medicine.

 

Ronan looked over his shoulder at Parrish, who seemed to be thinking about Ronan’s question. He finally met Ronan’s gaze saying, “We were best friends. I didn’t have many. He was wealthy, for some reason I can picture his house. This monstrosity that sat just on the border of a forest full of dense old trees. He was always in the library. He’d go traveling just to read old texts and copy them into his journals.”

Ronan snorted. “He sounds stuffy and boring,” Ronan said.

“I think you’d like him. He likes fairytales and folklore. Matthew said you were into stuff like that.”

“Key word is was, Parrish. I’m not anymore,” he said turning back around to look ahead. They were nearly there, the smell of saltwater and brine filling the air.

“Still…” Parrish trailed off. “I enlisted because he did. Well, we entered into the draft once we were both eighteen because his girlfriend had enlisted. She was off with the nurses before we were even called up. I don’t remember where she went, but it was the Pacific.”

“And you and Gansey dropped on D Day,” Ronan filled in.

“We did,” Parrish said. “My parents weren’t happy.”

Ronan turned again to look at Parrish. “You remember your parents now?” he asked watching Parrish raise a hand to his deaf ear. Parrish trailed his fingers down his own jaw and pushed at his chin.

“I can remember his hands on me,” he said at last, eyes finding Ronan’s. Ronan stopped, cutting Parrish off.

“He hit you?” Ronan asked. Parrish nodded, hands going back to his reigns. “Did anyone know?”

Parrish shook his head. “My mom… turned away? And I could never tell Gansey or his girlfriend…”

Ronan pulled Dochas up beside Parrish. Ronan reached over and took his hands, his knuckles red from the wind. They’d been through half their journey when Parrish  realized he’d forgotten his gloves. Ronan folded Parrish’s hands in his own, smoothing his gloved thumb over Parrish’s raw knuckles.

He didn’t know what it was like to have a parent lay their hands violently on him. His father had once threatened to spank him and he cried for an entire week even after his father apologized and promised he wouldn’t. Niall Lynch’s hands had only showed Ronan kindness, love, magic, and life. They’d never taken or hurt. They only cared and hugged, caressed and held tight to Ronan’s chubby hands when they walked together.

He didn’t know what he wanted to say to Parrish… to Adam.

Ronan looked at Adam trying to read his expression, but there was too much swimming in his eyes that Ronan didn’t know where to start. He just held Adam’s hands tightly hoping it said that it was okay. That he was okay. They were out in the middle of Ireland with just the rain and the sun and the wind and the grass. It was only them and they were out there so that for one day they could walk away from all the memories that haunted them through the night.

Ronan had heard Adam wake breathless and shouting. He heard because sleep evaded him most nights. When Ronan shut his eyes, there was only death and destruction waiting. He heard Adam pace around the living room, trying to be quiet while under the assumption that Ronan slept peacefully.

Sometimes Ronan wanted to go to him. Open the bedroom door and show Adam that he wasn’t asleep either.

Maybe one day he would. And then he’d brew some coffee and they’d sip it quietly while chasing away the horror. They’d walk outside under the thousands of stars to realize they’d survived.

“I didn’t want to go,” Adam whispered. The chill had turned his nose and cheeks a soft pink. The cold, damp air was familiar to Ronan, but still turned his cheeks cherry red.

“What?” Ronan asked.

“I didn’t want to go to war,” Adam said in a voice laced with worry over Ronan’s opinions of his confession.

“Then why?” Ronan only asked. Adam looked down, moving his hands so that he was the one holding Ronan’s hands. The wool was coarse, but warm.

“A multitude of reasons,” Adam finally said. He looked up, sadness clouding his eyes. “I wasn’t like Blue. She was always ready to fight. To be out there and save people even though she went on about the racial pressures of society. She always talked about the segregation, the police brutality, the blatant discrimination of America and how she was going to fight it all until her last breath. That was why she enlisted.”

“Was she Gansey’s girlfriend?” Ronan asked. Adam nodded.

“He trusted me with his secret, which wasn’t much of a secret to me. I was the only one he trusted not to judge him for dating a woman who wasn’t white.”

“Oh,” Ronan said. Adam’s gaze went back to their hands. “But that’s not why you enlisted.”

Adam shook his head. “Gansey talked about how it was his duty as an American to fight for the greater good. His parents had many contacts who we Jewish as well, so maybe he felt more connected. Regardless, he was ready to fight. He didn’t even apply to University which disappointed his parents. But he said he had to end the fighting. Said perhaps it was his destiny or something.” Adam let Ronan’s hands fall away. Ronan watched Adam face forward, looking out towards where the ocean would be on the horizon.

“But you didn’t think that way,” Ronan said.

“Did you?” Adam asked, looking at Ronan for guidance. Ronan almost didn’t want to tell him yes.

“My father greatly believed in joining the British and the Allies in the fight. Most people here didn’t agree… he…”

“You don’t have to say it,” Adam said quietly. “Declan told me when you went out in the field with Matthew.”

Ronan forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to know what dirty details Declan had thrown in about his spiral down. He pulled off a glove and ran his fingers over the velvety neck of Dochas to ground himself.

“I felt I had to go and help. I wasn’t doing anything else and my father and all that… I wanted to be a hero,” Ronan pushed the words out. How silly they sounded now amazed him. But that had been the driving force; his father and how his father believed that joining the army to fight was noble. But Niall Lynch could have made cleaning the horse stalls sound magical and noble. His way with words drove Ronan to do many things.

And his lack of words had driven Ronan to dark drunken days.

“It’s okay if your reason wasn’t that great,” Ronan said, slipping his glove on. He pulled Dochas forward, digging his heels in to get her moving. “Run with me, Parrish,” Ronan said, spurring Dochas into a gallop. He stayed twisted in his seat until he saw Adam following.

 

They ate their lunch on the cliffs. The waves crashed below them, loud and angry. Once they ate, they lay in the grass together. On the edge of the cliffs, Ronan felt closest to the sky. Like he could reach out and grab the puffy gray clouds. He imagined they felt like cold cotton fresh from the wash. Or maybe like fluffy snow that sometimes dusted the farm.

At some point, Ronan started humming. His mother spent all her time humming and singing. It drove Ronan to learn the fiddle like his father, so that people would keep singing for him. And when they were done singing they’d dance wildly to his music. Around and around until they were hot and tired, smiling and laughing.

“It’s a nice song,” Adam said turning to look at Ronan.

“I like music,” Ronan said simply.

“Opal told me. Said you were always playing for her. But that doesn’t sound like a dance song.”

“It isn’t,” Ronan said.

They lapsed into silence again. A few birds circled overhead, screaming over the crash of waves. Ronan tracked them for awhile until they flew out of sight. He’d never been in a plane. He’d never flown through the sky except in his dreams.

“I decided to join because if I did, they’d pay for me to go to Yale. It was the University I’d gotten into. I was going to do architecture,” Adam said. Ronan turned to look at him, but Adam was staring into the sky. “My dad fought in the first war and said a lot of things like I should stop being a wimp and fight for my country. And then I did and he yelled who was supposed to pay the fucking bills if I was gone?” Adam let out a short laugh. “I hate fighting. I hated the war more than I hated my dad and my mom. I just hated it.”

“I hated it too,” Ronan told him. It didn’t sound right to say he hated a war that was fought to save people, but Ronan had hated every moment of the war since the moment he stepped on the beach. When the silence stretched, Ronan changed the subject. “I have a cream for your hands. My mom used to make it.”

“Thank you, Ronan,” Adam said although Ronan wasn’t sure exactly what Adam was thanking him for. Maybe for all of it. Maybe for just the cream.

Ronan started humming again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Ronan is humming is called Siuil A Run. 
> 
> Also, just a heads up but there ISN'T going to be a lot of homophobia/gay freak out/internalized homophobia in this fic because even though it'd be accurate to that time period, I don't really want to focus on all that. It's just two guys who find comfort and love in each other on a nice little farm. 
> 
> And Blue is black in this fic. But I will not be using racist slurs or anything against her in this fic even though that'd probably be time period accurate too. I just want to write nice things and have the only bad be regarding the war that's now in Ronan and Adam's past.


	7. Chapter 7

They didn’t go to the town dance. Opal begged and begged, following Ronan all over the farm asking him to play. She even followed him to the outhouse. Ronan dismissed her saying he wasn’t feeling it.

He didn’t really know what he was feeling lately. A lot of emotions that he couldn’t even begin to sort through. There were a lot of sleepless nights. There were a lot of nightmares. The nightmares were worse then not sleeping. They were so real with sound and smell and so much raw terror that Ronan had woken up a vomited all over himself twice. The fear felt like it reached down his throat to rip his soul out. He was powerless against it.

But there were other emotions. Ones that were present at quiet breakfasts with Adam. Ones that plagued Ronan when he heard Adam screaming in his sleep and he couldn’t go to him. He almost did, but always stopped at the bedroom door. He’d bang his forehead against the heavy wood hating that he couldn’t go and offer comfort.

When they were awake, they moved together. Adam took his time reading the collection of books Niall had. Well, the ones in English.

He followed Ronan to the Barn and out into the field, usually talking to Noah since Ronan didn’t say much.

Adam wasn’t that good at farm work so they ruled that out as a place he lived. But he did remember fixing wagons.

“Worked in a shop. With a guy… something with a B I think,” Adam said running his fingers over the metal hoops Ronan kept stored in the barn. “We mainly did wagon wheels, but I was told to learn engines. The times are changing and everything…” Adam said. Ronan nodded.

“I crashed Declan’s car,” Ronan told him. Adam looked at Ronan as if expecting the rest of the story. No one had ever understood the rest of the story though… but Ronan told Adam. “I was meant to just pick it up from the shop and drive it home. Streets were all empty and quiet though and I… I could go so fast. I always liked riding Dochas fast, but this was different. Like my blood caught on fire and pushed me to go faster and faster. The way the wind felt, it was like I was flying.”

“And then you crashed?” Adam asked. Ronan nodded.

“And then I crashed. Right into a tree and broke my nose. All the air was knocked out of me, but all I could think about was how high I felt. I thought maybe I’d died and that’s why I finally felt so good. But then the pain was real and I knew I was still alive.”

Adam moved to stand next to Ronan. His eyes searched Ronan’s like he wanted to understand. Declan had just been angry and said he never wanted to see Ronan driving again.

“I fixed cars that broke down during the war, but I never drove one. I was too afraid,” Adam told Ronan. Ronan couldn’t look away from him. He wanted to say there was nothing to be afraid of, but he knew cars killed people. It happened before and it’d happen again.

Just not to Ronan, because every time he’d wanted to die he couldn’t. He was forced to suffer and scream.

Adam suffered and screamed too, but Ronan hoped he didn’t want to die. He didn’t know what he’d do if Adam said he wanted to die. But part of Ronan knew it would be very similar to losing Niall.

 

So, they didn’t go to the dance, but Ronan still went to his parents room and took the violin off the shelf. The case was old, battered, and covered in dust from a year of sitting in its place.

Ronan’s grandfather had studied music. He knew how to play concertos and waltzes and symphonies, but Niall hadn’t the patience to learn. Ronan’s grandfather had studied in England, but had traveled to Europe to find his prized violin.

He said the dark wood called to him and the rich sound sold him.

Ronan undid the metal latches and lifted the top open. It was nearly a hundred years old, with worn wood and faded varnish. It looked old, but played like it wasn’t even a day old.

Niall had taught Ronan how to care for Lady. How to replace her steel strings and delicate bridge. Declan hadn’t wanted to learn and Matthew never wanted to take Lady from Ronan.

Adam was watching him as he lifted the light instrument and placed it on his knee. He plucked the string, listening to the horribly out of tune note resonate through the air. He was glad Lady only needed a bit of tuning. The pegs stuck a bit, but she was tuned up in no time. Primed and ready for playing.

Ronan took the bow, sliding rosin across the horse hair. The bow had been strung and restrung and restrung many times. Niall said he tended to saw away while he played while Ronan had the delicate touch his grandfather had.

Both his grandparents had died shortly after Matthew was born, so Ronan’s only real memories of his grandfather were of faded songs at the back of his mind. Niall knew how to read music, but mostly played by ear. He taught Ronan how to read music even though Ronan was like Niall.

There was a box of yellowed sheet music in Ronan’s parents room. Before the war, he didn’t touch it much, but now, after hearing others play overseas, Ronan’s interest had been piqued.

“What are you going to play?” Adam asked, standing to stoke the fire. Ronan liked the way the light played across Adam’s skin turning him gold like a treasure Ronan wanted to keep forever.

“I don’t know yet,” Ronan said. He brought the violin up, dragging the bow across the strings in a few short notes. He wanted to play everything he could think of. He wanted to play for hours until his hand cramped and his fingers blistered.

He wouldn’t, but he wanted to.

Adam sat back down. Waiting, watching… and then he said, “Play something that sounds like what you’re feeling.”

Ronan looked up at him. “I can’t,” he said, too afraid of what he’d play.

“Then can you play something for what I’m feeling?” Adam asked quietly.

“I’ll try,” Ronan said. He already knew what he was going to play because he knew what Adam was going to say.

“Sad then,” Adam told him, leaning his head back against the couch so Ronan could only see his profile. Ronan traced over his profile with his eyes letting what Adam said sink in.

Sad.

Ronan was bad at telling people his feelings. He was bad at talking about anyones feelings. But he could put feeling into song without a second thought.

It was a song he’d thought of a lot over the last year. Sitting in churches, on hills, in barns, and trucks. A song that followed him. A song that a lot of men knew.

It wasn’t meant to be sad, but the way Ronan pulled the bow across the strings, the notes had a certain longing to them. A pain that came when you were desperately trying to make it go away. The song was about hope, but the way he’d heard it, from the lips of men about to die, it didn’t sound like hope anymore. It sounded like a broken persons song. One someone sang when they were out of options. A song someone sang in hopes that a god was listening to their final prayers.

“I’ve heard this before,” Adam said as Ronan continued playing. “I think I heard my mom humming it sometimes. It’s a church song right?” Adam’s voice was strained, like the way a barn door rattles as the storm screams to break through.

“It’s Amazing Grace,” Ronan said softly. Adam nodded and Ronan watched the fire light catch the tears that rolled down his cheeks. He said nothing, just played for Adam and wrapped his own sorrow in each note. “I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind, but now I see,” Ronan sang quietly.

He wanted to stand and go to Adam. He wanted to wipe the tears away. Wipe them away and whisper that it was okay now. It was all over now.

But Ronan could only sing. Any other word would get stuck in his throat. His tongue felt heavy and his eyes stung as he played through each verse again. He sang all the words he knew by heart hoping that Adam was comforted by them. The words didn’t comfort Ronan, but the music did. The feel of the fiddle in his hands and the ache in his arm as he drew the bow across each string. He could get lost in the music. He wanted to get lost in the music. But he needed to be there for Adam.

He watched Adam wipe his eyes with his sleeve. Adam took a deep breath and sighed. Ronan stopped playing.

“Are you okay?” Adam asked him.

“I don’t know,” Ronan told him without thinking. He wasn’t sure he could get the lie out of his mouth in front of Adam. Not after he felt Adam’s sorrow.

“Can you play the song Opal kept asking for?” Adam asked. “If you’re ready to move on.”

Ronan nodded, shutting his eyes for a moment. Opal’s favorite was a popular request at dances. He thought about the jig and began tapping his foot in a steady rhythm. He opened his eyes to see Adam watching him. Ronan put bow to string and began playing songs that were embedded in his hands as well as his memory.

There were two short parts to the jig that repeated and repeated until someone moved into another piece. He slurred notes together as his fingers moved from string to string. He increased the tempo a bit thinking about Opal jumping in circles begging for it to be faster.

Ronan had often bounced around the room with her while he played. The drum beat was always steady under the thump of feet dancing around the crowded room. Couples would dance and kids would skip around the room humming along. Ronan could feel the energy of the room, it was in the song even though they were alone in the house.

Adam was smiling at him. His fingers tapped along against the couch. Ronan smiled back, but just a small smile.

Maybe one day Adam would dance around the living room with Ronan. They’d dance inside or maybe deep inside Cabeswater or up on the cliffs or hills surrounded by air and water and earth. They’d dance in circles while Ronan played and they’d smile at each other.

They’d do that one day. Ronan could almost feel it. He knew what his playing did to people.

“Another,” Adam said resting his elbows on the arm of the sofa and placing his chin in his hands. “I never want you to stop.” He said it with a smile.

“Gotta stop one day, Parrish,” Ronan told him.

“But not yet,” Adam said. Ronan easily slid into another jig. He gave Adam another small smile.

“No not yet,” he said happily.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Opal likes is Swallow Tail Jig. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of goes back and forth in time a lot, so I hope it doesn't get confusing. Anyway, enjoy!!

Going into Cabeswater always felt like entering a new world. An entirely different world where Ronan was king, was magician, was warrior, was healer, was hero. He expected the childish fantasies to wear off as he aged, but they always came back when he crossed the tree line. 

Adam followed a pace behind, taking in the ancient trees for the first time. To Ronan, every branch felt familiar. Every rock and stone and bush was always in it’s same place just waiting for him to return. 

The worn path was covered in dead leaves left soggy by the previous  nights rain. Adam slipped a few times; Ronan twisting to catch and right him before he hurt himself. Adam looked embarrassed by it, but Ronan only shrugged. 

The deeper they went, the more signs of child Ronan there were. Carvings, chipped and fading paint on rocks. Collapsing forts in fallen logs, piles of smooth stones, colored bits of yarn and cloth that hung like flags or held peculiar rocks and treasures. 

They stepped over the gurgling stream, barely deeper than a puddle, and entered the clearing; Ronan’s favorite part. 

The area was covered in grass. Logs and rocks made up a fire pit and a place to sit in one corner, but Ronan went to stand in the middle. The grass was still a bit green, lit up by shafts of gray light that filtered in between the thick mess of bare branches. 

Ronan’s birthday had came and went. Opal always made him mittens, Matthew always got him a new book. Ronan and Adam went to Declan’s house for dinner and cake. 

There was a brief, tense conversation about Ronan’s lack of church attendance, but Ashley shushed Declan, saying Ronan’s birthday wasn’t the time or the place. 

That evening, back on the farm, Adam told Ronan he wished for birthdays like his. 

“When I was little, I guess it was kind of different, nicer,” Adam said, moving over so that Ronan could join him on the couch. Ronan had always chosen to sit on the chair to give Adam his space. But now Adam was actively inviting Ronan into his space. Ronan hesitated for a moment, meeting Adam’s gaze. Adam nodded, so Ronan sat. 

“We always got books,” Ronan said. “Da said there was nothing better than more knowledge. He handed me a thick mathematics book when I turned six and I cried. Mam showed me how it’d be good to press leaves and flowers with. I liked that better,” Ronan said. He’d decided a while ago that he liked sharing things with Adam that made Adam smile. Ronan would do anything for that smile. Starting small, just a tug of lips, and then stretching across Adam’s face revealing all his shiny, white teeth. His eyes would crinkle at the corners and sometimes he’d laugh. A throaty sound that bubbled out of him like champagne. 

And Ronan loved it. Told Adam stories, played Adam songs, Ronan always wanted him to smile. To remember what it was like to be happy when the nights were full of horrors and his memories were all jumbled and fogged over. 

“Of course,” Adam said softly, smile still stretching across his face. 

 

In Cabeswater, Ronan stood in the middle of the clearing while Adam circled the perimeter. While it was familiar to Ronan, it was all new to Adam. 

“I’ve noticed,” Adam said. Ronan opened his eyes to watch Adam look up into the branches of one of the wide trees. “A lot of these are the same lines on your back.”

Ronan felt his cheeks heat. He and Adam had taken turns bathing in the old wash bin that Ronan dragged to be near the fire in the living room. They’d done it more than once. Ronan did his best to not let his eyes linger on the line of Adam’s spine or the freckled skin on his shoulders or the flat planes of his chest and stomach. The light hairs on his body caught in the light turning them to fine silk. While Ronan noted the way his dark hair only looked thicker thanks to the shadows. 

There were scars on Adam’s body. Lashes across his back that made Ronan sick to look at. Marks on his ribs and one across his elbow. When Ronan had trimmed Adam’s hair, his fingers felt the scarred skin on his head that had taken his memory. 

When Ronan bathed, he felt Adam’s eyes on his back like hot coals. In a drunken stupor after Niall and Aurora Lynch’s deaths, Ronan had found someone to tattoo his back. Couldn’t remember the name of the guy, but he smelled like cigars and was older than anything Ronan had ever seen.

For days he’d inked sharp lines into Ronan’s back. Covering his pain with all the symbols and words that reminded him of his parents. 

His brothers didn’t know about the tattoo. A few in the army had asked and Ronan only grunted at them. But Adam was the first he let look at it. Really look, even if he never commented on it. 

Until they were standing in Ronan’s sanctuary. 

“Yeah,” was all Ronan could say. Adam turned to him, crossing through the grass until he stood in front of Ronan. Adam reached out, cupping Ronan’s smooth jaw. They’d shaved that morning, side by side. Ronan all fast and short strokes, while Adam moved his blade slowly against his jaw in elegant strokes, sheering what little growth he had. 

Ronan had watched him in the reflection of the mirror. Adam’s eyes had locked with his, but Ronan didn’t look away. 

Now Adam watched him with the same gaze, thumb running over smooth skin. Ronan stood perfectly still waiting for Adam to speak. 

“You were such a vibrant child,” Adam said. The rest of his words went unspoken, but Ronan knew what they were.  _ And now you’re so quiet and closed off. _

“I know,” Ronan said softly. 

“I like when I see that vibrance. When you play, with the horses and the sheep. With Opal and Noah and Matthew,” Adam said, moving his thumb to trace Ronan’s lips. The rough pull of Adam’s skin sent a thrill through Ronan, but he remained quiet. “I’m glad it wasn’t all snuffed out by your parents, by the war,” Adam whispered. Pressing his thumb against the bow in Ronan’s lips. 

Ronan pursed his lips, giving Adam’s thumb a gentle kiss before speaking. “It didn’t take it out of you either,” Ronan said, voice deep and rough. 

“I can’t remember things,” Adam said, eyes looking lost. “And the things I can remember I’d rather forget.”

“I know,” Ronan told him. “I want to forget those things too. Everything I saw… one person shouldn’t have to remember all that pain. But it can’t be erased or forgotten. You just can’t let it consume you,” Ronan said thinking that sounded like something Adam would say. It made him smile a sad little smile though. So, Ronan took his hand, pulled it away from his mouth and pulled Adam down into the grass with him. “Things are different in Cabeswater, probably because of the faeries, but it makes the outside world quieter,” Ronan told Adam as he lay back in the damp grass. The smell of earth consumed his senses and he felt his body relax.

“I noticed,” Adam said, laying with Ronan in momentary silence. “I’m afraid the war took everything I was, but maybe I didn’t try hard enough to hold on to who I was before.”

“Who were you before?” 

“I don’t know, just not  _ this _ ,” Adam said taking a deep breath. “Maybe I was blind or maybe I was naive. I followed because I didn’t know how to lead. Couldn’t even lead myself. I wanted to go to school. I worked so hard to go to school and when University was finally in my reach, I ran. I kept running until suddenly I had to be the leader and make the choices. Before me, it was always Gansey. He had all the answers.”

“But then they beat him,” Ronan said turning his head to the side to look at Adam’s profile. He’d only briefly talked about being a POW and what the Stalag was like. 

“Yeah,” Adam breathed. “The higher ups came and beat all of us who looked too good to be a POW. I don’t know why they beat Gansey the worst though. Then we marched out into the snow and then Gansey and half the unit was gone. I was alone. I spent time thinking maybe I deserve it because I never stood up to anyone. Never stood up for myself… and then I wake up here with no answers…”

“Sometimes there aren’t any answers,” Ronan said knowing full well how desperately one could look for the answer to a problem that had no answer.

“I don’t remember who I was and what I do remember, I don’t want to be that person. But I don’t want to be this person either,” Adam said. Ronan spent plenty of time wishing he wasn’t himself. 

“I like this Adam,” Ronan told him. “For what it’s worth this Adam is kind and gentle. Always listening to what others say even when it’s dumb ramblings. He has ideas and he’s good with his hands. He’s helpful, he’s friendly. He’s shit at chores and cooking, but you can’t be good at everything I guess. You’re vocabulary is better than mine. Your brain is probably bigger. You can still go to University Adam. The buildings aren’t going anywhere,” Ronan said while staring at the tangle of branches above. He used to whisper all his secrets to the trees, especially the ones about other boys. 

The trees always listened. 

And if he pretended hard enough, Adam was just another part of the forest. A gift from the trees and the Earth. A handsome boy with a lovely smile. A boy who wasn’t nothing and noone. A boy who was special and delightful and made the nightmares worth clawing through.

“This Adam is human with the same terrors I feel and see,” Ronan continued. “I know you can’t escape them because I can’t either. Maybe all that ruined part of us. Maybe it changed us.” 

“That’s why I like your stories of when you were younger, so that I can see that the war didn’t take everything in you. I’d be too sad if it’d taken all of you Ronan,” Adam said. Ronan turned to meet his gaze. 

“We’ll be okay,” Ronan said reaching to take Adam’s cold hand. Always forgetting his gloves. 

“Okay,” Adam said, eyes glassy. “Tell me more about Cabeswater,” he whispered, shutting his eyes and rolling towards Ronan so that his front was pressed against Ronan’s side. Ronan rubbed Adam’s knuckles, hoping to pour his heat into Adam’s frozen hands. 

“Cabeswater…” Ronan started with a soft smile.


End file.
